


(Don't) Stand (So) Close to Me

by marinoxx



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Also he's bi I guess, Anal, Angst, AstroLube, Haircuts, Keith is beauty he's grace he'll punch you in the face, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Prequel/Garrison, Shiro pines like hell but is in denial about it, Shiro was a TA, Slow Burn, Tension, The Whole Gang shows up eventually, butt stuff, can a oneshot be slow burn?, oh yeah Matt is in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 15:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10516293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinoxx/pseuds/marinoxx
Summary: A certain cadet phases into Shiro's life like a vision, or maybe a dream. He hasn't fallen for him, definitely not. It's just impossible to resist unraveling the heavenly enigma that is Keith.TL;DR: Keith's been stimulating Shiro since the Garrison and nothing has changed just because they're in space.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't have the drive to write a sheith fic until I read [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10136459?view_adult=true#main) by reinkist, who is my friend's roommate. Talk about seven degrees of separation. Or should I say one. Whatever.
> 
> This upload comes to you direct from the middle of the goddamn Sea of Japan. Please enjoy.

Shiro found his end on a Tuesday.

He remembered the incident flawlessly: September 1st, this particular Tuesday had been, two weeks to the day into the first trimester of his fourth year at the Garrison. Fourth hour. His first day at work as his commanding officer’s acting T.A. for PCH1194, the applied mathematics and physics course for cadet pilots. Shiro had but time to take one step out of Dos Santos’ office.

And there he was, being hauled away from the training bay by two upperclassmen, each maintaining a vice grip on one arm.

“--too early to be making enemies, you know.”

“Don’t get so worked up in PT, no one likes a hothead--”

Shiro’s eyes caught on the face of the arrested cadet, on the trickle of blood flowing from his sloping nose into the tight line of lightly chapped lips. Shiro followed that trickle upstream to find a fresh bruise blooming over one cheekbone, and over that, an eye--two eyes, meeting his gaze, cutting and recalcitrant. The last thing Shiro saw before those eyes sliced past, before the trio rounded the corner, was the first drop of blood that fell from the sharp angle of the cadet’s chin, leaving a red spot on the polished tile. Shiro didn’t need to register the residual, buzzing charge in the air to know that this cadet, this _boy_ , was harsh, coarse, tightly wound, and possibly carrying a bit of a discipline issue. He was everything that Shiro was not.

And he was _beautiful_.

Curiosity piqued, Shiro couldn’t help but stop by the training bay before the end of the hour. He was back, with a cotton plug in his nose, hair plastered to his face and neck with sweat. And _no_ , Shiro hadn’t imagined it, he was beauty if he had ever seen it--movements untrained yet powerful, sudden yet instinctual, halting yet full of intent. Yes, the cadet was beautiful. If Shiro was loose with his words, he might even call him _inspired_. But it was clear that the others didn’t think so, not on the receiving end of his blows, and neither did Iverson, who had to pull him off at the end of the sparring match.

It was just as well, Shiro thought. An uncut diamond usually wasn’t valued at much. And Shiro figured that that was it, at least until sixth hour. Their eyes met halfway through Dos Santos’ introduction. Oh, thought Shiro, standing at attention in the far corner. Oh.

Keith. Shiro couldn’t not look at Keith while he was proctoring an exam, or grading papers from his desk in the corner. He struck a hell of a silhouette. There were a lot of things Shiro could learn, looking at him.

Shiro learned that Keith was either in motion or he wasn’t. He didn’t fidget at his desk and barely shifted in his chair. When he did move, either to reach for his pencil or to stand, he did it with the same force and intent he applied to anything else. Shiro learned that Keith’s thick hair actually had a lot of body when it wasn’t weighed down with sweat. He learned that Keith was ambidextrous. When he stopped by the simulation deck in his free time, he learned that Keith piloted the way he moved, intuitive and reactionary. It was risky, sure, but that was Keith. Evidently it worked. His scores were those of a third or fourth year student, and he might have landed it on the fast track to graduation, if he weren’t so unsociable. Shiro didn’t have to learn that himself. He could glean that much from staffroom gossip.

Shiro knew this much, yet he and Keith hadn’t exchanged so much as a word. The other cadets generally liked socializing with their T.A.s. Keith was surly indeed.

Once he made it a habit, it didn’t take long for Matt to catch Shiro hanging behind the observation glass over the simulation deck.

“That your class?” Matt leaned forward, adjusting his glasses.

“Most of them,” replied Shiro, absently. Keith was standing undisturbed by the rear wall. He would probably stay there until it was his turn. Shiro felt Matt’s eyes on him. Shit.

“Oh?” Matt’s voice was pitched high. “What are you looking at so distantly?”

“I’m not looking at anything distantly,” Shiro answered, focusing his eyes on the simulator screen and pointedly looking anywhere but Matt. He was a damn good navigator, but Matt was too acute.

“I didn’t know that was your type,” said Matt, cutting to the chase. “Dark, angry and fifty percent leg. Or is that just your type while you’re on the rebound from your latest giiiiiirlfriend--”

“I’m not on the rebound and I don’t have a type,” Shiro deflected, walking away a bit too stiffly. “He’s just good. Watch him. You’ll see.”

“Whatever you say,” came Matt’s reply, but Shiro could hear the smile in his voice.  He had dinner alone in his room that night, safe from Matt’s razzing.

*

Two weeks later, Shiro was sitting in his office during his mandated office hours, feeling rather refreshed after three days’ leave. Halfway through his first stack of exams, he quietly noted the quick tempo of approaching footfall in the hallway. _Cadets_ , Shiro thought, turning his attention back to marking. His head snapped back up just then as Keith raged into the room like a tempest, slamming the door behind him and fixing Shiro with a glare corrosive enough to erode a lesser man. Shiro blinked back at him from the desk, eyebrows raised.

“If you think you’re gonna get it,” Keith snapped, “you’re not.”

Shiro allowed himself a moment to take in the almost sensual angle Keith’s hips were cutting and wondered if he hadn’t done this before. He sighed placatingly and chose to answer Keith’s glower with a plain expression, though he couldn’t keep his eyes from smiling. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Keith responded in turn by shoving a copy of last week’s exam into Shiro’s direct line of sight. It took Shiro a moment to find the offense, seeing that Keith had received full marks. Then he saw it. A note in the lower right-hand corner, next to the score. A note, in thick red marker, that said SEE ME!!, with a face next to it making what could be interpreted as a suggestive wink.

“Ah,” said Shiro in comprehension.

Keith remained still as Shiro rose from his place at the desk. “I took leave last week to attend a wedding,” Shiro said, skirting Keith in a wide arc and gently reopening the door. “The name of the T.A. for the other section of 1194 is Matt Holt. He’s the one that marked last week’s exam.”

“You proctored this test on Thursday,” Keith protested.

“And I flew out Thursday night,” Shiro confirmed, returning to his chair. He forged on when Keith failed to say anything, offering up a reassuring smile. “Don’t read too much into it. I’ll ask him about it, since he’s in the simulator today, but he probably just wanted to congratulate you. You should know your scores are brilliant, especially for a cadet.”

“You’re always staring at me,” Keith managed, with a tight grip on his pride. His shoulders stayed back, but Shiro could see the tips of his ears turning red. He was right, and Shiro was caught, but that didn’t stop Shiro from thinking, in that moment, that the way that dark hair curled around those reddening ears was so… _cute_.

“I just think you have a lot of potential,” Shiro said at last. “We all do.”

“Stop staring at me.”

“Okay,” Shiro agreed. And Keith was gone, taking his test papers with him.

Shiro made sure to deliver a well-earned smack to the back of Matt’s head at dinner that night.

*

Entirely contrary to Shiro’s expectation, Keith was in his office again the following week, appearing at the door with an expression that was almost meek. Shiro may or may not have intentionally mismarked his short exam in a long-shot effort to lure him back. It wouldn’t have mattered either way. The correct score was in the gradebook. Shiro just...hadn’t actually surmised that Keith would care enough for it to work.

Keith had silently accepted the corrected sheet and Shiro watched his eyes dance over the new score, motionless from his station behind the desk. Reflections of the room’s fluorescent lights were there in his eyes, sparking back and forth under the lashes like shooting stars at midnight. When Keith left, the office became Shiro’s cage; he wanted to follow Keith out into the hall, wanted to know where he was going, what he would choose to have for lunch. But that would have been moving much too fast. Even now, as Shiro pulled the hover pod he was driving over to the curb of the commissary where the beginnings of a sandstorm were whipping at Keith’s ankles, he knew he was moving much too fast.

Handkerchief over his face, Keith didn’t hesitate to open the passenger door when Shiro flashed the lights at him, sliding into the narrow seat like it was his birthright. Shiro was admiring the dexterity with which he was aiming the buckle of the seatbelt toward its socket when Keith finally glanced up at him, then did a double take.

“You didn’t know it was me?” Shiro asked at that, trying to hide his amusement. Keith shook his head, eyes wide but steady on Shiro’s face. “Who did you think it was?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Keith. His voice was hoarse, possibly from the sand, possibly from something else.

Shiro didn’t take his hand off the transmission just yet. “Do you want to get out?”

“No,” said Keith. Shiro released the parking brake, shifted the stick, and off they were in the direction of the main campus, albeit slowly because of the storm. Strains of music from the Garrison station streamed from the radio in spite of the thick atmosphere in the cab of the pod.

_Through the hourglass, I saw you; in time, you slipped away_ , the stereo crackled. _When the mirror crashed, I called you, and turned to hear you say--_

“It’s good that I saw you there,” Shiro cut in, switching the music off. “I know you cadets have PT tonight. It wouldn’t be fair if you had to be treated for sand inhalation.” Keith made a low noise that Shiro guessed was in agreement. He let a few more beats pass before speaking again. “You’re a little wild in your PT matches. I know you’re getting by, but you’d have fewer openings if you slowed down a bit to preempt your opponent’s movements.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice,” muttered Keith. There were barbs in his voice, yet they were lacking. Shiro didn’t take his eyes from the road, but could tell Keith was watching him from the way his neck prickled.

“No,” Shiro conceded, “but you’d get hit a lot less if you took it.” He allowed himself a sidelong glance at Keith, meaningfully touching the corner of his mouth. Keith mirrored the action, fingers landing on the unmistakable vestiges of his latest encounter on the mats. The mark adorned his lip like a smear of lavender paint. Shiro wondered if he might just wipe it away. That thought dissipated as Keith turned his face to the dusty scenery outside, hiding the bruise from view. “You’re so eager to finish sparring that it makes you impatient. And that makes you vulnerable. Patience,” Shiro finished, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, “yields focus.”

“Would you say you’re a patient person?” Keith turned back to Shiro as the pod came to stop in the main tower’s parking garage, shoulders square to the back of his seat. Shiro swallowed hard as the garage door came down behind them, feeling pinned under the weight of Keith’s stare.

“I try to be.”

“When do you usually use the training bay?”

That one caught Shiro off guard. “I’m a senior; I only have PT once a month.” Keith didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, so he kept talking. “I use the Building 5 upperclassmen’s gym on Wednesday nights. Weekends, sometimes.” Keith pushed the passenger door open with a smug look and slipped out, the fading sound of his boots echoing off the concrete walls. Shiro belatedly realized, breathlessly pulling his key from the ignition, that he had just been finessed. He wouldn’t understand why until a few days later, when he was in said gym on said night.

“It’s Wednesday.” Keith’s voice was distant. Shiro sidestepped off the treadmill, questioning whether he might have imagined hearing that, until he saw Keith standing there in the open doorway, alone. He was always alone, as Shiro was alone in the empty gym. Shiro was thinking that Keith might not have come at all if the gym were more populated, thinking that he might be feeling a bit lucky, then thinking he might be feeling a bit naked, this being Keith’s first time seeing him divested of his usual green uniform, and then Keith was coming at him head on, whether he was ready or not.

He caught Keith’s fist easily, then blocked the ambitious kick aimed at his head, slightly impressed with the height of it. It would have been more impressive if it had actually connected, though. Shiro seized Keith, wrist in one hand and ankle in the other, and yanked him down into a knee, driving it hard into his stomach. Keith fell hard, but bounced right back up again to continue his onslaught. Shiro might have thought the blow didn’t hurt, if he hadn’t known just how much force he had loaded into it, and if Keith wasn’t suddenly so angry.

“Calm down,” tried Shiro, but Keith was back on the attack, hooking toward his temple with the other fist. It was easy to dodge, and even easier for Shiro to use Keith’s inertia to set him off balance. Merciless, Shiro thrust the heel of a palm between Keith’s shoulder blades, forcing him to his knees, then planted one elbow on Keith’s horizontal back and slammed him to the floor before he had a chance to react. Keith’s breath left his lungs with an audible _whoosh_ as he hit the ground. Shiro leaned forward onto his arm, effectively pinning Keith down even as Shiro could feel his muscles cording in protest through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Fold,” Shiro said. The command was firm. Keith promptly stopped struggling, hair falling in a thick curl along his cheekbone as he fell still.

“Fold,” he repeated, voice muffled and low. Shiro got up and left him there on the floor, unable to watch Keith stagger to his feet. When he returned, Keith was standing a few feet away, hunched forward, eyes as dark and guarded as they had been the day of their first encounter in that hallway.

Shiro was always trying hard, trying to be a patient person, a disciplined person, a person that could compartmentalize and didn’t allow the personal areas of his life to bleed into those concerning work or academics. He had been under the impression that his temperament was one for which those things came naturally. But now, under the crushing pressure of Keith’s wary gaze and all the emotions that came with it, Shiro had to ask himself whether he hadn’t chosen to hold himself back _in spite_ of the affections he felt, or precisely _because_ of them.

Keith opened his mouth to protest when Shiro pulled the hem of his standard issue T-shirt up over his navel, but quickly closed it as a cold compress was guided to the skin with the other hand. Shiro traded his grip on the pack with Keith’s, covering Keith’s palm with his own, gently pressing it into the muscle.

“Don’t worry,” Shiro said to the crown of Keith’s head. “I won’t hurt you again.”

“We’ll see,” scoffed Keith.

The language formed thick and swollen on Shiro’s tongue. “I will _never_ ,” he breathed, shaping meaning into each word, “lie to you.” The moon of Keith’s face rose under his heavy bangs and Shiro saw the darkness leave his eyes like an eclipse. _Too fast_ , Shiro thought. He let go of Keith’s hand and reassumed their previous distance. “Come at me again when you’re ready,” he instructed. “I don’t mind if you try to hit me, but I’ll only tap you with an open hand.”

“You should have started with that,” answered Keith with a hint of petulance.

“I would have liked to,” Shiro admitted. “But you would’ve been angry anyway, right? Angry I was handling you with kid gloves.”

“Not sure if that’s better or worse than being manhandled,” groused Keith, meandering forward a few steps.

“It must not hurt that much if you have the energy to complain,” Shiro teased.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Come on, then,” said Shiro, and watched Keith throw the compress to the side. Keith didn’t win the second round. Nor did he win the next week, or the week after that.

*

“Where’d you get that shiner from?” Matt asked from his position on the couch, middle finger on the bridge of his glasses.

Shiro turned from the rice he was frying and grinned with pride, warping the sharp bruise coloring the apple of his cheek. “He got me.”

Matt just sighed. “What,” Shiro demanded.

“You,” answered Matt. Shiro was about to throw a handful of rice at him when the door slid open and Keith was behind it.

“Keith,” Shiro said in surprise, turning down the heat on the stove. “What are you doing in the officer’s lounge?” Keith moved across the room disjointedly, coming to a stop at Shiro’s toes and fisting his hands in the lapels of his officer’s jacket, just beneath the shiny new credentials. Shiro couldn’t be sure if this was anger or something else until Keith spoke.

“I asked around and heard you might be in here,” Keith mumbled. Not anger, then.

Shiro changed tack, lightly tapping the gold pin hovering over Keith’s knuckles. “Did you hear I got promoted, too?” Keith didn’t respond. Movement caught Shiro’s eye and he looked up to find Matt making a slashing motion at him from the couch.

_He wants attention_ , Matt mouthed. Shiro squinted at him over Keith’s bowed head. Matt pointed at Keith’s back, exaggerating the syllables. _You neglected him!_

Still confused, Shiro lowered his attention back to the hands creasing his uniform. “Keith,” he probed. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I just,” Keith swallowed, “wanted to make sure you’re still real. That you didn’t disappear.”

Ah. Now Shiro understood.

The cadets had come through the construction bay for the Kerberos shuttle late the previous evening. It was supposed to have been an educational, or maybe motivational excursion, until there had been an accident with the gas line. Shiro remembered how stifling the thick fabric of his protective suit had felt when the class had filed in behind the observation glass, the heat that crept up the exposed skin of his neck as he found Keith’s warm eyes in the crowd before the alarm blared. He had turned and run for the huge cavern of the detached starboard engine as the vicinity was evacuated, intent on disconnecting the fuel cable in case there was a spark.

There actually had been a spark, and then even an explosion, but it was in a separate location and caused only minor damage. No casualties, unless you could count the engineer that got reamed for failing to adhere to safety procedures. Shiro had put the incident out of mind and hadn’t gone out of his way to contact anyone about it, including Keith. He honestly hadn’t considered that Keith might care.

“Don’t worry,” Shiro eased, placing a hand high on Keith’s back. “I know it might have looked one way from the outside, but it wasn’t that bad. I didn’t go anywhere. I’m fine.” _Leave_ , he ominously mouthed at Matt. Matt obediently hefted himself up and headed into the adjacent room where the TV was, humming as he went. Shiro waited until the door shut to speak again. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Keith said, slowly loosing his fingers from Shiro’s jacket. Shiro stepped away, turning back to the stove.

“So what are you having?” he asked, readjusting the heat and cracking an egg into the pan.

Keith blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m cooking,” Shiro clarified, gesturing to the stove.

“I know, I mean, I,” Keith stammered, “I see that.”

“That means,” said Shiro, looking at Keith from the corner of his eye, “that right now this is Café Shirogane, and I need to know your order. What are you hungry for? You want some of this?”

“I,” Keith faltered. “I don’t know.”

“Surprise it is then,” replied Shiro, bobbing his chin at a chair. Keith took it without complaint. Shiro had kicked Matt out because he was nosy, not because he was wrong. He was usually right, in fact. And if he said Keith had come looking for Shiro because he wanted attention, well. Attention was something Shiro was happy to give.

He set a plate down in front of Keith a few minutes later. Keith took one look at the eggs and bacon arranged in a smiley face over his lap and cracked, giggles bubbling up from his chest. Shiro nearly lost his breath at the sight. If that was all it took to make Keith smile, he would have done it months ago.

“Here,” he said, placing Keith’s portion of the rice next to that. Shiro flipped open the cap of the ketchup bottle and drew a bear’s face on top. “I can do this, too.”

“Stop,” Keith howled, tears in his eyes.

“I hope you aren’t laughing at him. That’s mean,” chastised Shiro, adding the finishing touches. “He’s smiling for you.”

“I’m laughing because I can’t tell what animal it is,” Keith finally verbalized. “You suck at art.”

“So mean,” Shiro sighed, falling into the seat opposite Keith at the small table, plate in hand. He marveled for a while at the exquisite, quiet way Keith ate, only remembering his own stomach when Keith shot him a _look_ , a look that meant _you’re staring again, but I’ll allow it, for now._

Emboldened, Shiro pressed an ankle against Keith’s calf and watched his food nearly go down the wrong pipe. “I could have sworn I saw you watching a slasher film with the other cadets the other night,” he said, lowering his foot as Keith’s coughs subsided.

“Did you really,” Keith returned flatly, but Shiro knew what that glimmer in his eye meant. _Keep talking. Tell me more._

“Yes. Really,” Shiro affirmed, leaning in and shifting his weight to one arm. Keith’s eyes flickered down to where his jacket was cuffed at the elbow, then lower, to the exposed skin of his forearm. “Everyone covered their eyes when the chainsaw came out. Except you.”

“It’s all fake anyway.” Keith shrugged dismissively. “The gore was a good effort, though.”

“Does anything scare you?” Shiro found himself asking. “Or are you just fearless?”

Keith laughed once, the sound ringing hollow. “Yeah. That’s me. Fearless.” Of course it wasn’t so simple. Shiro didn’t know what he had expected to hear. He let the silence hang as Keith laid his spoon down.

“Shiro,” Keith said at long last. Shiro liked that, the sound of his nickname in Keith’s mouth. _Say it again._

“Yes?”

“This is too much food for me to eat.”

Shiro chuckled, reaching over to take Keith’s plate. “No problem.” No problem at all.

*

“When are you leaving?”

Shiro was halfway down the hallway, having just left his office with the rest of his personal effects. He shifted the cardboard box to his hip and faced Keith in defeat. Keith hadn’t attended his last class as a T.A., nor shown his face Shiro’s final Wednesday in the gymnasium. And that had been fine with Shiro, who didn’t know if he had the resilience to see Keith again knowing he would have to smile at him while he said the word _goodbye._

“Hm?”

“I said, when are you leaving?” Keith hovered at the mouth of the hall. His arms were folded just above the cinch of the belt at his waist.

“It’ll be next week,” answered Shiro. “But I’m flying out to Cedar Rapids tomorrow morning to pick up the last of the supplies. I’ll be there until the launch date.”

“You’re flying there yourself?” Keith’s eyebrows came together. “I didn’t know you could fly a plane.”

Shiro just tilted his head, offering a thin smile. “I can fly anything.”

Keith nodded, let his head fall forward, dug the toe of his boot into the floor. “Where are you going now?”

“Right now I’m headed to the dorms to drop this off,” Shiro responded, moving his free hand to the lip of the box. “Then I’ll probably walk the hall and see if anyone’s free to give me a haircut.”

Keith looked up at him through his hair. “I could do it.”

Shiro suppressed a laugh. “Not if you’re going to cut mine the way you cut yours.”

“I know how.”

He shouldn’t. He should tell Keith no, reject him outright. That’s what a _disciplined_ person would do, Shiro thought. But Keith’s hooks had been in him five months too long, and by now Shiro could see the offer for what it was. A request. _Please._

Shiro’s chest ached. It didn’t really matter if Keith jacked his hair up. No one important would be there to see it in space.

He nodded in the direction of the dorms, beckoning Keith over. “Come on.”

The upperclassmen’s dormitory wasn’t far. Keith was at his heels the entire way, though, looking furtive and uncomfortable in the unfamiliar building. Shiro smiled reassuringly at him as he swiped them into his room, setting the box down on his now bare desk and heading into the attached bathroom to flick on the light. Keith stood in the doorway for a moment before following Shiro in.

“Need anything else?” Shiro inquired, retrieving the clippers from under the sink and unzipping the case.

“A chair,” said Keith, watching Shiro lower the case to the counter. “You’re too tall.”

Shiro stepped back into the bedroom and dragged the chair at the desk to Keith’s feet. Keith positioned himself behind Shiro and gently laid his fingertips on the gold threading on the shoulders of his uniform as he sat down in front of the sink.

“I’m gonna take this off,” Keith murmured, deftly unfastening the front of Shiro’s jacket and gliding the concealed zipper down before Shiro had a chance to object. Shiro’s muscles tensed under Keith’s hand, jaw tight as he pulled the garment off, folded it carefully and placed it on the edge of the bathtub. Keith leaned over Shiro’s shoulders, changed the guard on the shears, and started to skim them over Shiro’s scalp, fading upward with crisscrossing strokes.

How long had it been? Shiro lost himself in the steady rhythm, letting his eyes fall closed and knowing nothing but the unbroken hum of the shears and the occasional measuring press of Keith’s thumb against his occipital bone. The bathroom window was open, sounds of the radio in the mechanical yard filtering up through the balmy air. Keith switched the length of the guard again and tilted Shiro’s head to the side, the flat of his stomach pressing into Shiro’s shoulder as he started on a sideburn. Shiro’s eyes fluttered open as a curtain of Keith’s hair brushed the shell of his ear and breath ghosted across his cheek.

_Mama’s dancing with the baby on her shoulder_ , came the whisper of air as Keith shaped his mouth to the words of the distant song. _The sun is setting like molasses in the sky._

Bittersweet affection welled up in Shiro’s throat, a hot pressure squeezing it dry. Shame followed soon after. He knew what he wanted. It was Keith, in every, intimate way; Shiro wanted to take Keith with him tomorrow and take him out, spend all his money, feed him the most expensive fucking food and give him wine he wasn’t supposed to have. He wanted to stop this and press Keith into his bed ten feet away, explore his skin with his mouth, turn his body into an ocean and sail a storm with him, wave after gentle wave. He wanted Keith to look at him the way he did through the haze of his dreams. To be the thing Keith wanted. To be everything it took to make him happy.

It was too much, too much want, all for things Shiro shouldn’t have and didn’t deserve. And yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the vision of _want_ before him in the mirror.

Keith had found a pair of scissors in the trimmers’ case and was using them now, running the blades along the longest strands. _Every word of every song that he sang was for you._ Shiro could read the consonants on his lips. _In a flash, he was gone. It happened so soon..._

“I’m done,” Keith announced, setting the scissors down with one hand and straightening Shiro’s chin with the other. Shiro met his eyes in the glass and managed another smile despite his exhaustion. It wasn’t bad at all.

“Thanks.” Keith’s face lowered and he grabbed a towel to start removing the clippings from Shiro’s neck. Shiro considered his next words carefully. “You should make some friends while I’m gone. You know, other than me.”

“I guess,” said Keith, reticent.

“How about that other cadet in your class?” Shiro suggested. “The lanky one. He seems to like you.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Shiro spun round in the chair to face Keith directly. “I’ll be gone a long time. I just don’t want you to be alone.”

“Don’t worry about me,” retorted Keith, dropping the towel in the sink. “Worry about yourself.” Shiro had nothing to say to that. Keith was plucking what hair he could from Shiro’s shirt when Shiro rose to stand before him, moving the chair aside with a foot so Keith's chin was level with his collarbone. Keith raised it, defiant.

The air was blisteringly hot. “I don't know how to say goodbye to you,” Shiro confessed. He couldn't force a smile after all.

“Then don't,” Keith countered smoothly, pulling away from Shiro and tracking a course for the door. Then: “Just promise you’ll come back.”

“I promise,” acceded Shiro before Keith left the room, a comet departed. The empty sting of his absence was immediate.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

*

Shiro didn’t come back. Not all of him. Not the way he knew Keith wanted. He was so sorry for that.

It wasn’t really necessary to say that Shiro hadn’t expected to see Keith again. Keith--and Pidge, and everyone else on the ship--broached the subject of Shiro’s detainment with the sordid sort of awareness that, for all the efforts they knew he had made to survive aboard the Galra vessel, he had done them burdened with the weight of his mortality and under the impression that he might have only a few weeks or days left to live. Shiro knew nameless parts of him were missing; had felt the anguish when they were cut out, or ripped out, or made to rot and die. The last part he imagined would withstand the Galra was the one he found tenacious and blossoming upon his return to Earth.

He thought for sure he was dead when Keith had stolen him from the scientists. It was difficult to decide whether he was in heaven or hell, though; if Keith was meant to be his ultimate reward or a punishment for his sins. Eventually the revelation came. He was alive, and Keith was there, and if that wasn’t the universe staring back at him from behind those indigo eyes then the only other word he had for it was God.

Shiro knew, then, that he had two hearts: one that sustained his body, pumping blood, and one that contained his humanity, the one which he had left behind on Earth and which Keith had kept under lock and key, safe in an alabaster box.

As the (begrudged) leader of their team, it made sense from Shiro’s perspective to worry for the safety of all of the paladins. That said, he didn’t often worry about Keith. He knew Keith could fight, because he had taught Keith to fight. He knew Keith could shoot, because he had taught Keith to shoot. And he knew Keith could fly, because, well. Keith didn’t need teaching for that. Apart from Allura, Shiro didn’t know a more capable person than Keith. He trusted him with his life.

He had been anxious, though, when the two of them had crash-landed on that barren planet after the battle to rescue Allura, and Keith had come for him, Shiro injured and under assault.

Please, he had begged when he saw Keith running for Black. Let him in, even if you won’t move for him. I can die, but please. Keep him safe.

He needn’t have worried. Black knew his heart. She looked inside any time she liked.

Keith wasn’t so privy, however. _They say I’m Galra,_ he’d whispered, eyes lidded and rimmed in red. _Do you hate me?_ That was almost funny. Keith could be human, alien, man, woman, something else entirely. Nothing would change. Shiro would feel the same. And so he said.

Allura’s voice pulled his attention back into the present. “It looks fine,” she said, in reference to the scan they were performing together. “But I still think we should avoid venturing any farther into this area.” She resized the map with one elegant finger. “Systems like this tend to have planets rich in the types of raw materials that attract Galra mining colonies. I’d like to move the castle somewhere the landmarks are less inviting.”

“Let’s turn it around, then,” Shiro replied. “It’s best if we err on the side of caution, and not just because we haven’t completed repairs yet. Battles are stressful. We should prioritize avoiding one as long as we can so we can all get some rest.” Allura didn’t react. Her expression was distant when Shiro finally looked over. “What is it?”

Her exhale arrived after a few seconds. “Sometimes,” she shakily said, “you really remind me of my father.”

Shiro tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and squeezed her far shoulder, drawing her in. Allura let herself be shepherded, leaning into the solid brace of his side. Shiro held her there while they flicked through the remainder of their surroundings, wishing he could do as she was doing sometimes, let his cracks show. He didn’t have to ask; Allura was a good friend and he knew she would be supportive, but Pidge and Hunk plainly saw him as a paternal unit. Shattering that because he couldn’t keep it together, that. That wouldn’t be fair. And Keith--

“Hey, sis,” came Keith’s voice as the doors to the control deck slid open. Shiro flinched hard and whipped around to see Keith over his shoulder, standing in his usual spot at the far wall. Pidge was in the doorway, holding what looked like a fragment of her latest invention.

“I’m working with too many cables,” she said to Keith. “Can you come help me?”

“Sure.”

Shiro could just see the sly curve of Matt’s mouth as Pidge disappeared with Keith in tow. _There goes your boy._ There was a bit of that in the scrutinizing pinch of Allura’s eyelids, too. Shiro did not need this right now.

“I. Thought we were alone,” Shiro ground out, not nearly as casual as he’d wanted.

“He’d been there at least ten minutes,” Allura smirked. “I didn’t know you could jump like that. Do it again.”

“Excuse me,” said Shiro, detaching himself from her as she pinched at the skin above his hip and making his escape. He could feel her tittering at him all the way down to the fourth level.

*

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Coran said, carefully affixing the last contacts of the castle’s cerebral linking system to Lance’s forehead. “Do you all remember how it works?”

“Coran, my man,” Lance prated with a grin. “We got this.”

Shiro chanced a glance at Keith, who he hadn’t seen much since his departure from the control deck the other day. Keith’s gaze was far away, and if he knew Shiro was looking, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Tell me why we’re doing this again?” Hunk scratched at one of the contacts on his scalp. “I thought we were already working pretty well together as a team. And, we had plans to play spades today. What happened to that?” Pidge was nodding along in earnest.

“So you are,” agreed Coran, “but it can’t hurt to practice. Or so says the princess. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time for your Earth games afterwards.”

“Fair enough,” Hunk yielded as Coran switched the system on. Shiro let his eyes fall closed and focused on transforming the black lion. This much was second nature. Concentrate. Think. Compartmentalize.

His mind started to wander after their third successful pass. Keith was there, ever burning in the corner, steady in his role as the right arm but otherwise the essence of radio silence. Shiro reached out against his better judgment, touching Keith’s mind with a tendril of thought. He felt Keith’s consciousness start and recoil with a harsh jolt. Shiro had already apologetically begun to retreat when Keith opened his mind to him and only him, hesitantly and then all at once.

Darkness enveloped Shiro in an instant, hazy shapes shifting in his peripheral vision. He oriented himself, searching with his senses. Dry heat, the smell of grits and maple syrup. A thinly shrouded sense of loss. This was too far back, wasn’t what Keith had wanted him to see. He let Keith guide him along, phasing past strings of memory too quickly to discern any one. Shiro was just about to attempt a question when his own face exploded before him like a dying star, bright flames of the image licking hot at his feet. It took him a tick to place the moment from Keith’s perspective. Oh, yes. September 1st. Two weeks into the first trimester of Keith’s first year at the Garrison. Sixth hour. Keith was zeroed in on Shiro’s mouth, but Shiro couldn’t hear himself. Keith’s heart was pounding too loudly.

Shiro saw himself again, this time in the corner of Keith’s eye. Keith’s knees were weak and shaking. He couldn’t concentrate on the lecture like this, but more than that he couldn’t let his superior officer see how affected he was. Indignance and panic at the note on his test drove him running into Shiro’s office. Shiro’s frame was larger than he had anticipated. He flowed past Keith to reopen the door, smiled kindly at him from behind the desk. Keith’s blood was roiling. He threw a punch at Shiro, tried to beat down _that_ emotion, but then there was the animal way Shiro grabbed him, and the harmless touch of his palms. Shiro’s presence was commanding, thrilling, overwhelming. Shiro felt the safe and enveloping warmth of his own hand on Keith’s shoulder, the press of his chest into Keith’s back as he supported his grip on the gun, steadied his aim. The hush of his own voice in Keith’s ear. _Patience._ Keith wished he didn’t like it so much, wished Shiro didn’t make him feel _some kind of way._ Affection. Devotion.

Fear. Keith didn’t mean to snap like that. He was an hour late to their meeting, doing everything wrong. Would Shiro leave? Shiro laughed internally. _I wouldn’t abandon you over something like that._ Fear again, at the accident during the construction of the Kerberos shuttle. Keith’s fists clenched, watching Shiro depart on that same shuttle, soaring worlds away to a place he couldn’t follow. Months later, the announcement came: mission failure. Pilot error. The last image the rover transmitted captured the jagged edge of a hull fragment.

Keith’s grief overpowered him as he viewed the broadcast in an empty classroom. _Look away. Look away,_ Shiro pleaded, reaching for Keith’s quaking body, but he streamed uselessly through Shiro’s fingers, too late, his heart already broken for the first time. Keith flashed memories before him in lieu of words, dragging Shiro closer to the angry nexus of his mind where the force of his emotions rocked him like a typhoon. His euphoria at Shiro’s return and helplessness in the face of his suffering. Frustration. He wanted Shiro closer. Jealousy. He had to share Shiro again, five ways. Jealousy. Jealousy. Shiro was hugging Allura. _Touch me like that!_

_You said you wouldn’t leave me_ , Keith’s thoughts rang. _Will you leave me over something like this?_

Shiro reeled out of Keith’s grip into the liminal space surrounding his awareness and tore the apparatus from his head. Keith’s eyes were finally on him, blown wide and too searing to meet. He wasn’t the only one staring.

“Sorry,” Shiro choked, looking anywhere but at Keith. “I have to leave.” He leapt to his feet and was gone from the room without another word, ignoring the probing questions aimed at his back and his name half-formed on Keith’s lips. Shiro’s feet carried him to Black’s hangar. He secluded himself in the refuge of her cockpit, the one space he knew he would be alone. Save for Black, that is.

She was happy he had come, but didn’t understand why he was upset. Shiro let her in, replayed what Keith had shown him as he processed it himself. Black’s response was measured. The red paladin wants to possess you. But you are not happy. I cannot understand.

“That’s because you’re a giant robotic lion,” Shiro ribbed. Black resented that. _Keith and I need to work closely together as a team,_ Shiro tried. _Changing our relationship might compromise...well, everything._

Black acknowledged his opinion with quiet reserve. She could accept that that may have been true. But not changing it now would certainly compromise things. Besides, perhaps the red paladin could teach you to relax.

“Wait,” Shiro said, dread shifting to suspicion. “You didn’t happen to know about this?”

Yes, she affirmed. I know what the Red Lion knows. We were once part of the same being. Shiro mopped a hand over his face, feeling a little betrayed though he recognized it wasn’t Black’s inclination to meddle in his affairs. Rest here for now, Black directed as she withdrew her presence. I will return. Shiro let his head fall back against the pilot’s seat and tried to meditate, drifting away to the ebb and flow of his breath.

*

Black was back as promised some time later. Go to the second level, she instructed. Listen to me.

Shiro didn’t want to leave, but she would eject him if he didn’t obey. He climbed out and headed for the escape pod dock where the elevator was.

The undercurrent of Allura’s voice floated towards him as he approached the kitchen. Shiro’s eyes adjusted to the light as the doors opened; Allura was bowed forward at the waist, and now that there were no obstacles between them the concern lancing her words was obvious. Shiro could make out the hem of Keith’s red shorts beyond the shield of her body. He moved forward and around, casting a shadow over Keith’s knuckles, white where they braced the counter. His back was heaving, more violent the closer Shiro came. Worried, Shiro hunted for Keith’s other hand. He found it not far from its counterpart, gripping a spoon, midway through a halfhearted attempt to shape the mess of green goo on the dinner plate at Keith’s navel. A smiley face. Keith’s face was dry even as he sobbed harder.

Shiro shot Allura a repentant glance and she left at once. It was time to give up the fight.

He swept Keith’s left hand from the countertop and squeezed it fiercely, tucking Keith under his chin to hush him and press him close. “It’s all right. I’ll eat this one,” he soothed, burying his nose in Keith’s hair as he moved the plate out of sight, replacing it with a clean one. “I’ll help you this time.” Keith shakily dispensed a new portion of goo on the plate and Shiro covered his hand with his synthetic one, Keith’s wrist pliant as Shiro maneuvered it, carving the spoon into the ooze anew. Shiro drew their still-linked hands across Keith’s stomach to latch their bodies together, only speaking again after Keith’s breathing had evened a bit. “It looks like I’m not very good at this, either.” Keith snorted, but Shiro could hear his fatigue. He clutched Keith tighter. “Talk to me.”

“I saw you everywhere,” Keith whispered. “Even after you were gone. In the halls. By the simulator, outside the garage. Even though I knew you wouldn’t be there, still, I…” His voice cracked. “Even though you couldn’t be there, Shiro, I--”

If it was his fault, Shiro decided, crushing Keith’s lips to his, then he had to take responsibility. He had to erase the hurt. Wipe it away. Keith surged into him hungrily, meeting his mouth again and again.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro broke in, brushing Keith’s nose with his own. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come back to you.”

“No,” contended Keith against Shiro’s mouth. “You’re here.”

“I’m different.” Shiro’s artificial fingers swept a lock of hair away from Keith’s face with a tenderness he didn’t know they had. “I don’t even have the same face.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Keith said. He touched the long lashes at the corner of Shiro’s eye. “Your eyes are the same.”

Oh, God, the way Keith was looking at him. It was the way he had always wanted. The yearning in Shiro’s chest broke loose, flowing free now in a river of emotion. Shiro wanted to douse his fingers in it, all of them, human or not. He would anoint Keith with it, if he could; stipple it over his forehead, his temples, under his wrists and behind his ears. It was a sweet, ambrosial pain. It felt too good.

Keith’s fingers were skating down his jaw. “What is it?”

Shiro leaned into the touch. “I just--I’m wondering if I really make you happy.”

“You do.”

“Then there’s nothing left for me to do.”

Keith hummed sleepily as Shiro lifted him, dragging his toes over the floor and steering him toward the exit. “Where are we going, Assisting Officer Shirogane?”

“Your room,” replied Shiro. “You look tired. Must’ve cried yourself out.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Keith grumbled.

Shiro just smiled and let Keith have that one. “Okay.” Keith didn’t speak again until they were downstairs and Shiro was closing the door to his room behind them.

“So,” he said as Shiro attempted to deposit him on his bed. “You do like me.”

“Oh, I more than like you, Keith,” Shiro answered. “Though I thought I was being subtle about it.”

“Now I know,” continued Keith, still resisting Shiro’s nudges. “And now I have you alone. In my room. With me. That’s a fatal mistake.”

“Oh no,” Shiro intoned, seeing the writing on the wall. “You’re going to take a nap, because you look like hell, and after that we can talk about whatever you want, but right now I’m leaving.”

“I’m not tired,” Keith protested as Shiro tried to pry their hands apart. “I won’t sleep.”

“You’ll be out like the lights as soon as I’m gone.”

“If I promise to sleep,” Keith desperately bartered as Shiro extricated one arm, “you have to stay.”

After a moment’s consideration, Shiro decided that was fair. Keith released him to dim the lights when he nodded, but was back on him the instant Shiro turned to retrieve the chair across the room.

“What are you doing?” Keith’s hands were shackles on his wrists. “No. You stay with me.”

“Keith,” Shiro groaned, moral compass spinning.

“Stop being so noble,” growled Keith. The more Shiro resisted, the harder he pulled. Stubborn. The red paladin. “You’re about to tell me I’m moving too fast. You need to relax.”

_Relax_. Shiro remembered Black’s words and felt Keith’s gravity drawing him into orbit. Maybe they were right. Yeah, it was fine. Besides, Keith was grown, not a child. He didn’t need Shiro to decide what was best for him. It was better just to give in if Shiro wanted to please him. And oh, Shiro wanted to _please_ him.

“All right,” Shiro surrendered, letting Keith yank him down onto the bed. “Let me take my shoes off.”

“Here,” directed Keith, positioning Shiro on the wall side of the bed and fencing him in with his body.

“Satisfied?” Shiro asked. Keith made a sound of approval. “Good. Now go to sleep, I wasn’t lying when I said you looked like hell.”

Keith curled up at his side and was asleep within minutes. Shiro knew when he was out; all the tension drained from his face, breathing turning slow and serene. He hadn't anticipated Keith wanting to share this kind of intimacy so quickly. It was comfortable, though; as if Shiro had been sharing a bed with Keith for years. He could watch him like this for an eternity, but Keith stirred after what felt to be only about an hour.

“Didn’t I tell you to sleep?” Shiro chided as Keith snaked an arm over his side.

“I can’t anymore,” Keith murmured. “I’m too keyed up.”

Shiro, like the coward he knew himself to be, carded his right hand into Keith’s hair instead of taking the bait. “Your hair’s getting pretty long, Red.”

Keith pushed himself closer. “Do you like it?”

“I like you any way.” Keith pulled Shiro’s plated fingers from his head and pressed the palm to his lips. Shiro let him slide the heel of a hand up his arm, watched him hesitate at the seam where metal met skin.

Keith slid a thumb back and forth over the ridge of scar tissue, quiet for the moment. “Does it come off?”

Shiro had been wondering when he would ask.

“Yes,” he answered, holding Keith’s gaze. “But it hurts.” Keith digested that information, then took the same hand by the wrist, planting it firmly on his hip. “It doesn’t bother you?” Shiro asked in afterthought, sliding it up under Keith’s dark T-shirt as he allowed himself to be kissed, hard.

“It’s your hand,” Keith stated, removing his shirt entirely. “I want it on me.” Shiro opened his mouth for Keith, let their slow kisses turn messy and wanton. Keith pulled him up into a sitting position and sat between his knees, hooking his own behind Shiro’s back. Shiro took one look at the thighs imprisoning him and imagined that he should have known Keith was an alien. He’d never seen legs this spectacular on a human. Keith hauled him in by his vest and twisted their tongues together, ground down as Shiro stroked the silky insides of his thighs. Shiro dipped his fingertips into Keith’s navel and reveled in Keith's resulting shivers. He had been half hard since Keith moved their bodies together, but his erection was pulsing now with Keith’s arousal bumping against his abdomen. Keith slipped an immodest hand between them and cupped Shiro hard, running a couple fingers along the outline of his length against his pants. ‘It feels like a nice one,” he crooned. “Can I see?”

“You want to have sex,” Shiro panted as Keith worked him. It was an acknowledgment, not a realization.

“We’re already having sex,” Keith corrected, removing his hand and sliding lower to align the swell between Shiro’s legs with his own. Shiro inhaled sharply when Keith rolled his hips to drive his point home. “Are you saying I can’t see it?”

“Keith,” said Shiro even as he gripped harder, “I really shouldn’t--” Keith raised himself on his knees above Shiro and yanked his head back by his platinum bangs. Shiro blearily looked up at him, palm still flat against Keith’s stomach.

“Stop thinking of me as your junior officer,” Keith demanded, pushing Shiro’s chin against his ribs. “I’m not your cadet. You don't have authority over me anymore.” Shiro felt Keith’s grip recede and his lithe fingers pet backward, tenderly combing through the carpet of his hair. “This isn’t the Garrison, this is deep space. I don’t belong to anybody or anything. It’s just me and my body, and you and yours.”

A weight Shiro hadn’t noticed before was lifted in an instant. Keith could see the change as it happened and sighed in satisfaction as Shiro shifted, laying his cheek over the taut skin of his navel. “All right,” Shiro heard himself rumble, nuzzling into Keith. “But don’t say you don’t belong to anybody. Tell me you’re mine and no one else's.”

“Mm.” Keith tossed his head and stripped the vest from Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro helped Keith undress him until his torso was bare. “You're right. I’m yours. Your cadet. I always was.” Keith reached down to unfasten Shiro’s pants and teased out his cock, deliberately circling the tip with his ring finger.

Thoroughly seduced, Shiro moaned and sank into Keith’s shoulder as he was fondled again. “Keith--”

“You like that?” Keith purred, curling an arm around Shiro’s neck for support. “Touch your cadet that’s gonna give it to you.”

Shiro indulgently ran his hands up Keith’s sides, feathering his caress over the planes of his body and delighting in the goosebumps that followed. “What happened to, ‘If you think you're gonna get it, you're not’?”

“Shut up and manhandle me,” scowled Keith, but his eyes were soft.

“Okay.” Shiro caved right away. “Where?”

“Wherever you want.” Keith arched and gently squeezed Shiro, who mouthed down the column of his neck, kissed wet at his nipples.

Shiro snuck a hand up one leg of Keith’s shorts. “How about here?”

“Anywhere,” Keith insisted. He bit his lip as Shiro palmed him roughly. _More._

Shiro adventured further, entered the valley of Keith’s ass, massaged at his sex. “Even here?”

“Yeah.” Keith whipped Shiro’s fingers away and covered them with his mouth, returning them dripping to his entrance. “Especially there.” Shiro plunged them inside, scissoring, drinking Keith’s hums of appreciation down like wine. He slid Keith’s red underwear off and added another digit, hips jerking in surprise when Keith slicked him up and started pumping. “Space mall, Shiro,” he said before Shiro could ask, as if he was a fool for having the question in the first place.

“You always were resourceful, weren't you?” Keith stifled a whimper as Shiro craned his neck to tongue the length of his erection. “Or was it just impulse?”

“Shiro,” Keith started with a gasp. “Shiro, not yet,” but Shiro was already swallowing him easily, pulling Keith in toward his face as he nudged his fingers deeper. Keith braced his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and shuddered, resisting the instinct to buck into his inviting mouth even as Shiro’s hand on the curve of his ass encouraged the movement. Reservations gone, Shiro fetched the bottle of lube from where Keith had dropped it and sluiced his fingers, bobbing his head so Keith bumped the back of his throat. Satisfaction welled between his legs when Keith cried out, shoving himself deeper into Shiro’s mouth as he was wetly finger-fucked. Shiro hummed in approval and crooked his fingers inside Keith, tuning his body as he would an instrument.

“I'm gonna c-come,” Keith sobbed in warning. “You're gonna make m-me come, Shiro--Shiro, I'm coming--”

Keith's climax filled Shiro’s mouth in hot spurts. Shiro swallowed it as it came and milked Keith for all he had, only relenting when Keith begged him to, body writhing and cheeks wet. He caught Keith as he fell into his lap, gathering up his slackening body and kissing away his tears. “Do you want to sleep again?”

Keith weakly shook his head. “I shouldn't have...so early.”

“No,” Shiro corrected. “Now you’re wide open.” He reclaimed Keith's softening member and stroked it back to life, screwing him back up like a wind-up toy. Keith was panting against his lips by the time he was hard again in Shiro’s hand. Shiro felt his hand pushed aside and raised his hips for Keith to peel off his pants. Keith straddled his lap again as soon as he was naked and leaned in, gripping Shiro’s shoulders.

He mounted Shiro’s cock slowly, lowering himself until the head rubbed at the cleft of his ass. “Now,” Keith said with a nip at Shiro’s lip, “it's your turn again.”

Shiro choked on a cry as Keith descended on him, taking in the tip and languidly sinking down until his ass hit skin. There was a second of inaction while Keith adjusted around his shaft, and then Shiro was suddenly _less than_ , reduced to a bundle of cosmic energy and frayed nerve clusters as Keith rolled his hips, pitching up and down like a ship on water. Shiro smoothed a palm over the erotic bend of Keith’s spine and drew him forward until their chests were flush. He had dared to imagine, once, that Keith made love the way he did anything else; reactive, intuitive. Deliberate. He had been right.

“How is it?” Keith was kissing him again, tongue gliding lazily in and out of his mouth. He bore down around Shiro’s shaft, squeezing him like a vice. Shiro’s senses left him in a rush. “Does it feel good inside me?”

“It feels like velvet,” Shiro breathed, crushing their bodies closer. “Don't stop.”

He could feel Keith smile against his cheek. “I've been meaning to fuck you like this.” Shiro’s vision went hazy as Keith crested again. “Sweet and steady. Take you in deep and bind you to me so you can never leave.”

“Keith, I couldn't leave you even if you wanted me gone,” swore Shiro. “The only way I could leave you is if I'm dead. Which I might be shortly, if you keep going like this.”

“You better get used to it,” Keith advised, lips skimming the scar stretching across Shiro’s nose. “Because I'm gonna do this to you all the time.”

“Are you now?” Shiro tapped Keith’s collarbone. “And I’m just going to let you, am I?”

“Oh yeah,” Keith asserted with a cocky jut of his chin. “You're gonna let me.”

Shiro gave Keith one last peck before lifting him clear off of his lap. “You are so adorable I can't stand it.”

“Shiro,” Keith stressed as he was lowered onto his back. Shiro crawled between his knees, spreading them high and wide. “Shiro, what-?”

“I just have to kiss you,” Shiro said, lowering his head. “Make some more cute noises for me.”

“Shiro--” Keith cut his words short as Shiro’s lips touched his entrance, tongue laving over the hole. Shiro let the ridge of his teeth catch on Keith's rim, then sealed his mouth around him, sucking hard. Keith’s hands fisted in the sheets and Shiro heard him shout. He nibbled lightly, giving Keith a chance to rest, then worked his tongue inside, ruthlessly fucking him with his mouth. Shiro didn't come back up for air until Keith was keening loudly, spine snapped taut. Keith hadn't yet reopened his eyes when Shiro slipped his cock back inside, grinding in little circles.

“You might have me wrapped around your finger,” Shiro whispered in his ear with a shallow thrust, “but I'm not helpless.” Keith just moaned wordlessly, clutching at his back. “I hope you don't mind.”

“Stop teasing me, Shiro,” Keith broke. He folded his legs around him, locked his ankles at the small of his back. “Give it to me right.”

Shiro chose to answer that with his body, surging forward to meet Keith’s mouth as he angled himself inside. Keith could read his movements as always, finding Shiro’s rhythm and matching his pace with every thrust. He came quickly the second time, and messily; watching his orgasm was so lyrical that Shiro crashed into his own.

His mind hadn't changed, if that was possible. Beautiful. Keith was just so fucking _beautiful_. Looking at him alone felt like a cardinal sin, and this?

Shiro knew he was damned, but hell, it was worth it.

He came around to find Keith’s hands on him, sweeping over his nape and shoulders. Shiro lifted his head and felt cum leaking out of Keith from where he was still buried inside. Oh. He made to pull out, but Keith stopped him.

“No,” he urged, digging his fingers in. “Stay there while you sleep.”

Shiro stiffened. “I shouldn't sleep next to you.” He glanced back up at Keith, hoping he didn't look as shameful as he felt. “I have--I get nightmares, sometimes. I don't want to hurt you.”

Keith pinched Shiro’s cheek and exhaled heavily. “A long time ago, I remember you saying you wouldn't hurt me. Did you lie?”

“No,” Shiro answered seriously. “I didn't.”

“I believe you.” Keith pressed Shiro’s face back down against his chest, wrapping him in his arms to keep him there. “So I'm not worried. Sleep.” And Shiro couldn't very well argue with that, so there he stayed.

It was his first peaceful night since his escape. He realized that the next morning, finding Keith's drowsy smile from the same position he fell asleep in. Shiro saw the cheeky glint in his eye. What a hotshot. _Mine_. Yours.

Yes. His second heart.

*

“He’s gone.” Lance’s words were on repeat, skipping backward and forward inside his head.

“He’s not,” was all Keith had been able to say. Denial. Even now, he couldn’t manage much else. And what was there to say? The Black Lion’s hatch had opened, and, impossibly, Shiro was not there in the pilot’s seat. Vanished. And with that, Keith’s existence came to a screeching halt.

It was almost déjà vu.

Keith scratched his head absently. His hair was greasy. Shiro had been the last person to wash it.

_Stop wiggling_ , he’d said, Keith’s back against the broad triangle of his chest. _I’m going to get soap in your eyes._ And then, when Keith had reached for him: _Let’s have some decorum and not do anything untoward in the baths where anyone could walk in, hm?_ How unfair.

_Don’t pout. You can have me all you want after we’re back upstairs._

Keith hadn’t washed since. He didn’t want to see Shiro’s afterimage skittering over the walls in that room, have to confront the residual splinters of him that had taken up residence in his peripheral vision. Then again, maybe there was no escaping him either way. Keith could already see dredges of him leaking in through the air vents, gathering in the corners of the room to descend on him like a lover while he slept.

He hoisted himself to his feet, a superhuman effort. It was all the same. Keith might as well be clean, in the case that Shiro came back. And he would come back. Wouldn’t he?

A familiar mental tug materialized toward the end of his shower. Keith pulled the same clothes on and left for the lower decks without drying his hair. The pull didn’t disappear, though; not when he entered the hangar nor when he stood at Red’s feet.

Not me, was all Red supplied.

Anxious now, Keith allowed himself to be towed deeper into the castle. A different hangar. The Black Lion. Fearful, he grappled for Red’s presence, but she was passive and unconcerned. Keith reluctantly drew nearer until the Black Lion’s pull subsided. He could feel her energy: contemplative, assessing.

Don’t be afraid, came her thoughts in impulses when Keith was sufficiently close. There is nothing to fear, and fear does not suit you.

Keith looked up at her hesitantly. _Shiro?_

The black paladin is not here, she returned. Keith sagged forward as the small flame of hope in his chest was extinguished. Rivulets of water from his hair trickled down his nape, soaking the collar of his shirt. It was suddenly very cold.

_I don’t want to be your pilot._

I know, was her response. You are the red paladin. Not the black.

Keith relayed her his confusion. Then why was he here? What could she want from him if not to talk about that?

I wanted to see you. Black was candid where Red was proud. I wanted to see you safe. Keith was struck with a singular, possessive warmth, an encompassing sea of milk and honey meant for him and him alone. Shiro’s quintessence. These were Black’s only remnants of him. A gift.

_You really don't have him?_ Tears stung forbearing at Keith's eyes. _I can't tell who you are._ That was Shiro, palpably, indelibly, unmistakably so. At least, it used to be.

He was so cold.

I am the Black Lion, she said. But I willingly carry the black paladin’s imprint. With the Red Lion, I will protect you. I will keep you close. I will see you safe.

_I don't understand_. Shiro wasn't this partial, this wouldn't be--above all, he would want everyone safe. That was Shiro, he was gracious, and this was something Keith would do, a largess Keith would want to leave for him, not the other way round. Keith wasn't so worthy of this. _It shouldn't just be me!_

The black paladin loves you. Black’s words. Her fond tone betrayed her amusement, as if it were such a simple thing. A natural thing. Keith couldn’t help but cry, faced with something like that, from a being like her. He didn’t want to hear that now, with Shiro gone. It shouldn’t come from his Lion, reliable but secondhand. It should have come from Shiro’s lips proper, should have been mouthed against his skin. He should have said it sooner. He should have told you.

He loves you. _He loves you_.

Didn't you know?

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I know the ending might feel a little cut short but I kind of wanted that because I think it mimicks how Keith is feeling?? Shiro is gone but it feels like there should be more and this can't be the end of him, and his conversation with Black is the guillotine for that.
> 
> I also didn't really want to write into Season 3 territory until it comes out...but if things line up after that? Who knows lol
> 
> Anyhow. Thanks for reading my smut. Come visit or message my shitty Tumblr @[marinoxxycontin.](https://marinoxxycontin.tumblr.com)


End file.
